


Tucker's not very romantic.

by Strudelgit



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelgit/pseuds/Strudelgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's gotta work a little harder at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tucker's not very romantic.

They’re in Tucker’s room, after Donut and Doc  _ finally  _ leave after their bi-weekly poker game, tipsy from their wine and laughing and helping a stumbling Sarge get back to his room. Wash had closed the door and slyly pulled out a bottle of bourbon from who knows where, poured them each a glass, flopped on the couch, and the two soldiers had proceeded with drinking, joking, and bickering, interspersed with some intense making out.

Tucker wants Wash to move his knee, which is digging into his hip, and murmurs so into his mouth.

“Mmm?” Wash back up a little. “What was that, love?”

Tucker stares.

Wash stares back. Then it slowly dawns on him what exactly fell out of his mouth. His face is already pretty red from the canoodling and alcohol, so the fact that his blush noticeably darkens and expands to his entire face must be some sort of scientific marvel.

Tucker shrieks with glee. “Oh my god! Oh my god, that was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever done. That you ever said. And you’re  _ Agent Washington!!!! _ ”

Wash hides his face in his hands. “Tucker.”

“And you’re, like, the most dramatic guy on the planet, on any planet! So that saying something! Oh my god, ahahaha!!!  

“Please drop it.”

“No! Oh my god! You called me ‘love’ you fucking cornball!!” Tucker’s tone is accusatory, but his grin is so wide and gleeful that Wash can’t be too mad.

He is mad embarrassed though. And his boyfriend does not let up despite his obvious discomfort.

Ah, who’s he kidding? Tucker  _ revels  _ in Wash’s discomfort.

“You realize how dopey that sounds right?” Like, what is this, the eighteenth century? You gonna bring me a bouquet of roses and ask my dad for my hand?” 

“Tucker, please drop it.”

“I mean, I know you’re older than me, but surely not  _ that  _ old.” 

“You know.” Wash brings his face up again. Trying for a deadpan expression. He’s not so sure he’s succeeding. “Most people would find that romantic.”

“Babe you’ve already wooed me and and the whole shebang.” Tucker’s winding down finally, though still chuckling like a prick. “Besides that’s not romantic. That’s just hokey.”

“And  _ you’re _ the expert on what’s romantic?”

“Hey I landed you, didn’t I?”

Wash rolls his eyes, but falling back into this bickering is comfortable, safe again. “A nice gesture every once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay, how’s this for a romantic gesture: suck my dick.”

“You could do better.”

“Suck my dick in the rain.”

Wash laughs, and obliges.

He’s careful not to call his boyfriend by anything but his name though, for a long time after.

* * *

 

 

  
God, Tucker hates Pirates. You’d think after wiping out Hargrove’s people, they’d know to fuck off, but apparently that’s too much to ask for. And now they’re the worst problem on the planet. Two years still after becoming a problem in the first place.

Not the biggest problem. Oh, no. Not the biggest problem, by far. Kimball had her hands full with dealing with the UNSC, fighting for the rights of the colony’s autonomy. That was definitely more important to deal with, in the grand scheme of things, than a handful of rogue criminals living in the wilderness.

But Tucker doesn’t care much for the grand scheme of things when he’s sitting outside the infirmary, waiting for Wash to get out of surgery. He doesn’t care about the UNSC at all. He only cares about the exact way he’s gonna root out and shish kebob those assholes in black armor with his sword. Where did the pirates even get automatics? You’d think they’d be out of ammo by now. Surely after this latest skirmish that had to be true: all those bullets were currently residing in one Agent Washington’s gut, thigh, and shoulder.

He must fall asleep waiting, because he suddenly jerks awake when Dr. Grey shakes his shoulder. Must have been a while too because his neck hurts something fierce.

“The surgery was a complete success!” Grey cheerily says. “I think that was the record for bullets in one person so far! We dug out 69!”

“Bow chicka bow wow.” Tucker mumbles. “So he’s gonna be okay?”

“Oh yes! In fact, we completed the surgery hours ago! It seemed best to let you sleep; carrying an injured 180 pound man in power armor for a mile requires some recovery too, you know. He should be waking up any minute now!”

“What?”

Grey takes him to Wash’s room, and he plops himself down on the plastic chair next to the cot. Wash seems to still be out. The steady beeping of machines is calming, but today was too close. So maybe Tucker’s feeling a little sentimental.

“Hey love.” He says quietly.

Wash cracks an eye open and replies with a weak smirk. “...What?“ He croaks. “Is this the Eighteenth century?”

That sneaky  _ fucker _ .

  
Tucker smiles though, and laces their fingers together.


End file.
